


In This Twilight

by the1andonlyofo



Category: Legend of Zelda: Skyward Sword, Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-02-10
Updated: 2012-05-07
Packaged: 2017-10-30 21:20:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/336282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the1andonlyofo/pseuds/the1andonlyofo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For centuries, Ghirahim has been wandering Hyrule with the hope that somehow, he will be reunited with Ganondorf. Meanwhile, Ganondorf uses the usurper king, Zant, to take over Hyrule. A sequel of sorts to Fire and Ice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Without You

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, so I’m about to confuse the shit out of you. I’d originally called this a sequel, but that’s not necessarily the right term. The events of Twilight Princess do occur after those in Ocarina of Time, but according to the timeline, it follows the child branch, meaning that it follows Majora’s Mask. Fire and Ice ended with Ghirahim left alone after Ganondorf has been exiled to the Sacred Realm, meaning he exists in the adult branch of the timeline, in which Wind Waker would be the logical follow up story (may or may not continue this story into that game). In the child branch, Ganondorf is imprisoned before he can take over Hyrule because after being sent back in time by Zelda, Link still has his prior knowledge of Ganondorf’s takeover. You could consider this story cannon IF you assume that Ganondorf was sealed in the Sacred Realm on charges of conspiracy, without getting the chance to carry out his plans. He met Ghirahim during his planning phase so even in the child branch, they’d still be together. And if Ghirahim wasn’t sealed up with Ganondorf then he’d still be wandering around Hyrule like a little lost puppy for something like a few centuries (we’ll assume Ghirahim’s life span is unnaturally long, being that he is a sword spirit). So I guess I’ll leave it up to you as to how you choose to interpret it.

_The tears dry, without you._

_Life goes on, but I’m gone._

_Cause I die, without you._

_-Without You,_ RENT

                The passage of time was impossible to measure in the world that had become his prison. This place he’d once longed to gaze upon had become his personal Hell. There was no day or night, just a perpetual purple glow in the sky, neither dawn nor dusk. It bathed the Realm in its cool light, lending its coloration to all it touched. He didn’t age and his surroundings never changed, but he knew he’d been here for a very long time. The unnatural quiet and complete isolation had slowly begun to drive him mad. He yearned for just a snippet of the sharp, clear sounds from the world he’d left behind instead of the muted and muffled quality of all sound in the Sacred Realm. He missed the warmth of the sun on his skin and the soothing coolness of the night.

                He spent a great deal of time sleeping. Within his dreams, he found an escape from the world he’d come to loathe. Within his dreams, they were together again. He would awaken feeling elated, the ghosts of pale skin and white hair still dancing across his fingers, only to realize none of it was real, nothing more than the subconscious desires of a lonely man. The anger would come then, followed by the soul-crushing pain of a heart being broken once again. He had no way of knowing if his lover had escaped punishment or if he’d been hunted down and killed. It pained him to think that Ghirahim had been spared, but was left to age and die longing for the embrace of a long-lost love. Maybe the sword spirit had found happiness elsewhere. All he knew was that he himself, Ganondorf the once feared Gerudo thief, had been doomed to suffer alone.

…

                Ghirahim knew how much time had passed. He’d suffered through every excruciating day, watching as the weeks turned into months and then years. With the long lifespan granted to him he saw civilizations and even entire races, including the desert thieves who’d birthed his exiled lover, fall to ruin. New towns and villages sprung up around him. Hyrule Castle and the surrounding Castle Town grew in size as more people moved to the prosperous settlement.

                Ghirahim had never bothered to become a part of society. In the early years people had known who he was, the lover and co-conspirator of Ganondorf. He’d evaded capture and there had been a price on his head, making reentering society impossible. As the years had passed, he slowly faded out of the public eye, becoming a villain of legend. After Ganondorf’s capture, Ghirahim had shed his flamboyant dress, replacing it with less eye catching clothing. He’d allowed his pale hair to grow out, the white tresses now tumbling over his shoulders. He became a wanderer, never staying in one place for more than a few days, usually living in the wilderness, and only speaking to others when necessary. It was a lonely existence.

                The pain of losing Ganondorf had been unbearable at first. It’s not that it ever subsided, but he’d learned to live with it. The constant ache had become part of his very being and he now existed as a broken man, a shade of his former self. He’d listened for news of Ganondorf, hoping to catch some news of his fate, but over the years he too had become a dark figure in the history of Hyrule. It seemed unlikely, impossible, that Ganondorf would ever escape the confines of the Sacred Realm, but Ghirahim held on to the hope that one day his love would return to him.

…

                The monotony of imprisonment was suddenly broken one day, when six beings entered the Sacred Realm. They were ethereal beings, floating just off the ground. They all looked identical, mask like faces floating before a bald faceless head, except that each bore a different symbol on the front of its robes. Ganondorf realized that these creatures were the Ancient Sages. The Light Sage, who led the group, approached him.

                “Ganondorf Dragmire,” it said. “For your crimes, you have been sentenced to die.”

                Ganondorf stood, holding his head high. He would not be dragged kicking and screaming to his death, but would rise to meet it willingly. Besides, all the years trapped in this place had drained him of his will to fight. What did he have to live for anyway? He allowed himself to be chained and in a flash of light, he was transported away from his prison. At least he’d get to see the sun one final time. He hissed in pain as its light reached his eyes; they’d grown unaccustomed to anything brighter than the dull glow of the Sacred Realm. He smelled dry air and sunbaked stone, realizing that they’d brought him back to the desert to die. He slowly opened his eyes, allowing them to adjust to the light. He surveyed his surroundings as he was chained to a large slab of obsidian. They were atop a large tower, most likely the Spirit Temple, or at least whatever had replaced it. It no longer resembled the great Desert Colossus. A mirror of some sort stood upon a platform directly across from him. The Sages had assembled before him, a glowing sword floating before the Sage of Water. Ganondorf thought of Ghirahim. Perhaps now the two of them could be reunited, assuming that Ghirahim had died long ago. He raised his head to look directly at his executioners, determined to die with dignity and not hang his head in defeat. The sword unsheathed itself, spinning around a few times before driving itself into Ganondorf’s chest. He exhaled sharply and painfully as he felt the blade enter his body, he tasted blood and his vision began to cloud. He lowered his head and waited for the encroaching darkness to take him…but something wouldn’t let him die.

                The Triforce of Power glowed on the back of his hand. He felt life flow through his body. He clenched his fists and threw back his head, letting loose a triumphant cry. With his renewed strength he fought against his bonds, breaking the heavy chains with ease. With the sword still impaled through his torso, he lunged forward. His fist connected with the Sage of Water, reducing it to dust. He glared at the remaining Sages, daring them to approach. He pulled the sword from his chest, leaving a glowing spot in its place. He laughed loudly at the cowering Sages. He was free at last. He was prepared to flee this place, killing the remaining Sages if he had to, and find out what had become of Ghirahim. He would finish the work they’d started so many years ago.

                The Sages suddenly looked toward the mirror, each of them raising a hand toward it. It began to glow, a series of symbols bursting forth and projecting themselves onto the stone Ganondorf had been chained to moments before. Ganondorf felt the pull from the portal that had been opened and desperately tried to fight against it. He had no idea what lay on the other side and would not risk going back to isolation in the Sacred Realm. He cried out in frustration as the force took hold of him and he tumbled backwards into oblivion.


	2. Opportune Encounters

As Ganondorf came to, he realized he was lying on cool stone. He sat up, blinking and rubbing the back of his head. As his vision cleared, he realized he wasn’t in the Sacred Realm. Dark clouds filled the gold-tinted sky and dark particles drifted upwards, oblivious to gravity. He was on a floating island of sorts, connected to various others. Several large, dark buildings loomed in the distance. He closed his eyes, rubbing his eyelids with the heels of his hands. Upon opening them, he found himself face to face with a creature of some sort. Ganondorf let out a cry and jumped back. It was humanoid in form, its gender not completely clear though it appeared to be male. He had pale, bluish skin, an elongated and closely cropped red hair. He wore baggy black robes of some sort with long flowing sleeves tipped in a fringe of sorts.

                “What are you?” Ganondorf asked, closing his hand around the sword at his side. “What do you want?”

                “Are you a god?” the creature asked, tilting his head slightly to one side.

                “Why do you ask?” Ganondorf inquired.

                “Well, one moment there was nothing here, but when I looked back, here you are,” he explained.

                Ganondorf thought for a moment. This being didn’t appear to be horribly intelligent. Maybe he could take advantage of this situation.

                “Yes I am,” he replied, rising to his feet. “I am the great Ganondorf.”

                “My name is Zant,” the creature said, dropping to his knees. “At your service, my lord.”

                “Where exactly am I, Zant?” he asked.

                “You’re in the Twilight Realm,” he answered. “The home of the Twili.”

                “You’re a Twili, I presume?”

                “Of course. I’m in the Twilight Realm, am I not?”

                “Yes,” Ganondorf said, raising an eyebrow. “So who’s in charge around here?”

                Zant’s yellow eyes narrowed, the subject obviously angering him.

                “Midna,” he sneered, his lips curling back into a snarl.

                “I take it you don’t care for this Midna,” Ganondorf observed.

                “I should have been king!” Zant screeched, his voice getting more hysterical as spoke. “But they passed me over in favor of her! Too power hungry, they said!”

                Ganondorf studied Zant as he continued to rant, his mental state seeming to deteriorate by the minute. Perhaps he could take advantage of Zant’s growing insanity and lust for power, maybe find a way back to Hyrule.

                “Zant,” Ganondorf said, putting his hands on the Twili’s shoulders to still him. “I’m feeling sympathetic to your plight. What if I granted you the power to take revenge on those who have wronged you?”

                Zant’s eyes widened.

                “You’d do that for me?” he gasped.

                “Of course,” Ganondorf said, throwing an arm around Zant’s thin shoulders and forcing a smile. “I can be a very generous god.”

                Ganondorf released Zant and took a step back. He raised his hand, sending a blast of energy toward the eager Twili. The purplish light enveloped him. He threw his head back and yelled as he felt the power course through his body. A triangular metal mask with vaguely reptilian features encased his head and shoulders. A smirk crossed Ganondorf’s lips. This pitiful creature was his ticket out of here.

…

                It was early evening, the horizon just beginning to take on a salmon-colored tint. Ghirahim sat by Zora’s River, his back against a nearby tree, watching the sky fill with fire. This time of day always brought Ganondorf to mind, the colors cast into the sky by the setting sun reminiscent of the Gerudo’s trademark orange hair and golden eyes, always aflame with passion for one thing or another.  What Ghirahim would give to gaze into those eyes again, to feel that vibrant hair beneath his fingers. Even after centuries of separation, Ghirahim could still remember the scent of Ganondorf’s skin, made rough and dark from years of life in the desert. He could still recall the feel of it, stretched tight over the toned muscles beneath. He could practically feel the comforting weight of Ganondorf above him, pressing him down as they moved together. Rough hands caressing his body, full lips against his own, hot breath against his own fevered skin- he remembered it all.  A moan escaped his lips and he felt warmth flow over his fingers. He snapped out of his reminiscence to realize he’d taken himself in hand, bringing himself to climax. He stood and went to the water to clean up. He heard a splash further down the river and turned to see a pair of Zoras climb onto the opposite bank, warriors by the look of them. Each carried a spear made of wickedly sharp shell. They hadn’t spotted Ghirahim, but it was only a matter of time before they did. He returned to the tree he’d sat under moments ago, scaling it in seconds. Once hidden in the branches, he peered out to watch them. They were engaged in conversation.

                “You haven’t heard then?” the taller and clearly older of the pair asked.

                “No,” his companion replied. “Why would I have asked otherwise?”

                “There are rumors that the Sage of Water is dead.”

                “Who says that?

                “Queen Rutela’s bloodline is directly linked with the Ancient Sages and she can…sense, I suppose, the presence of the Sage of Water. Apparently it just vanished. She fears that he has returned.”

                “Who?”

                “Ganondorf.”

                Ghirahim’s heart stopped and he practically fell out of the tree. Could it be true? Was it even possible?

                “That’s impossible! He lived centuries ago!”

                “He was imprisoned in the Sacred Realm, a time outside of time. Only the Sages have access to it. A messenger arrived from Kakariko Village with news from Renado. Apparently they attempted an execution, but failed. He killed the Sage of Water, but the remaining five managed to banish him to the Twilight Realm.”

                Ghirahim knew of the Twilight Realm, it figured into the history of Hyrule. The Interlopers had been banished there during the Civil War. Ganondorf had spoken of it; he’d been a child when the conflict had started and his mother had died in battle, leaving him to be raised by Koume and Kotake.

                “But he can’t escape can he?” the younger Zora asked. “Otherwise the Twili would’ve escaped years ago.”

                “I wouldn’t underestimate his power. He did survive his own execution, but then again, he didn’t escape the Sacred Realm.”

                “The Sages will keep him under control. Besides, the desert is impassible. There’s no way out, even if he did escape.”

                The desert, of course. The Gerudo may have died off, but their homeland was still there. It was practically impossible to access the wasteland. The path leading there had been sealed long ago for unknown reasons. If what the Zoras said was true, then this is where Ganondorf had been brought to die and then disappeared from. There had to be something there. Ghirahim had heard all he needed. He disappeared without listening to another word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, lots of theorizing going on in this chapter. Let’s start with the Sages. In OoT they’d been actual characters, but in TP they’re those genderless, ghost-like things. I’m theorizing that the latter form is their true form, but at some point they inhabited the bodies of the characters from OoT (for reasons unknown, hide their identities perhaps) without their knowledge, explaining why they seem oblivious to the fact that they’re Sages until Link awakens them. After those characters die, the Sages just resumed their normal forms, but the bloodlines of the characters that had been Sages in Oot remained linked to the Sages. In my universe, these connections are as follows (some are more obvious than others, but all make sense): Rutela descends from Ruto and becomes linked with Water, Darbus from Darunia and becomes linked to Fire, Impaz from Impa and becomes linked to Shadow, Ilia from Saria and becomes linked to Forest, and Renado from Nabooru and becomes linked to Spirit. Since Rauru was almost deity-like in nature, the Light Spirits maintain direct contact with the Sage of Light.  
> The Hyrulean Civil War happens before the events of OoT. Link’s an infant at the time, his mother fleeing to the woods and leaving Link in the care of the Kokiri. This appears to happen toward the end of the war, but how long had it been going on beforehand? We don’t know exactly how old Ganondorf is. At the beginning of Fire and Ice, I’ve put him in his mid-twenties, probably like twenty-six. Link’s probably about eleven or twelve (thirteen at most) in the events at the beginning of Oot, so that would make Ganondorf about the same age at the end of the war. Assuming the war started years earlier, Ganondorf would’ve been a child. We know he was raised by Twinrova, but why? Since his father couldn’t have been a Gerudo (only one every one hundred years and all), he was probably some random Hylian or Sheikah. The Gerudo are all women, no doubt making them a matrilineal society (children descend from their mother’s line as opposed to their father’s, with the exception of the single male born every one hundred years) so he’d have his mother’s surname. They probably operate similar to the Amazons, seeking men outside the society for sexual purposes, but these men never become part of the society so Ganondorf would’ve never known his father. If his mother went to fight in the war and died, little Ganondorf would be left to be raised by Koume and Kotake. A little anthropological case study on the Gerudo.


	3. Establishing Control

“Can I help you, sir?” Midna asked.

                She didn’t recognize the man that stood before her. He was clearly Twili, but she’d never seen a mask like the one he wore. She began to stand, but the guard at her right held up a hand to stop her.

                “State your business!” he demanded when the stranger didn’t answer.

                “I believe you’ve taken something that’s rightfully mine,” Zant said calmly.

                “Zant?” Midna realized. “Is that you?”

                She suddenly became uneasy about the situation. What did he have on his head? It brought to mind the Fused Shadow, an artifact so powerful that it had to be shattered into four pieces to prevent its misuse.

                “What are you doing, Zant?” she asked, trying to mask her unease. “Take that thing off.”

                “Step down,” he commanded. “The throne is rightfully mine.”

                The guards shifted into defensive positions, knowing that the confrontation had taken a sinister turn.

                “I’ll tell you once more,” Zant said. “Step down or pay the price.”

                Midna couldn’t help but laugh.

                “What do you think you can do, huh?” she mocked. “You don’t have the power!”

                “Wrong answer,” Zant replied.

                He pointed at the nearest soldier, who dropped to his knees and began to convulse. As Midna and her guards watched in horror, the targeted soldier began to transform into a black beast. Tentacle like protrusions sprouted from beneath a shield like mask that obscured his face. The creature let out an ear-piercing shriek and ambled to Zant’s side.

                “Any more objections?” Zant asked, cocking his head to the side.

                Midna’s eyes widened in shock.

                “Seize him!” she commanded, rising to her feet.

                The soldiers sprang to action, but Zant was quicker. Within minutes he’d turned his attackers into an army of those creatures, all of whom turned their attention to Midna. She gasped and turned from him, fleeing into the palace. With the hoard at his heels, he gave chase. She didn’t make it far; he cornered her on a balcony of the upper levels of the palace.

                “Ready to bow to my will, Princess?” Zant chuckled, his voice beginning to rise in pitch.

                “Never!” she spat.

                “Very well then.”

                He gestured to her. She was whisked into the air in a flash of dark purple light. As she floated above him she was transformed into a small, imp-like creature. She fell to the floor and cried out in a mix of pain and shock. She glared up at her attacker, unable to see his face obscured as it was by the mask. She looked past him and his army of transformed Twili to see a strange man step out onto the balcony and come to stand at Zant’s side.

                “You’ve done well,” Ganondorf praised, placing a hand on Zant’s shoulder.

                “Thank you, my lord,” Zant squealed, giddy with excitement.

                “Not so grand now, are you Twilight Princess?” Ganondorf sneered down to the imp at his feet.

                She narrowed her eyes at him.

                “You’ll pay for what you’ve done,” she promised. “Both of you.”

                She shakily got to her feet and left from the balcony, disappearing into the gloom.

                “After her!” Zant commanded his legions.

                A large group of the beasts leapt from the balcony to pursuit the dethroned princess.

                Ganondorf jumped as a loud burst of maniacal laughter escaped Zant’s lips. He took a step back as the newly appointed leader of the Twili practically skipped back into the castle. Ganondorf could hear his crazed laughter echo through the halls as he continued his gleeful meandering. Ganondorf let out a brief laugh, perhaps more of a scoff actually, at the antics of his new servant. Could he really put his faith in this creature, which was currently scampering around the castle screaming like a hyperactive child?

                “Zant,” Ganondorf said firmly, stepping into the hallway and grabbing hold him. “Calm down. Pull yourself together, we’re not done yet.”

                “You’re right,” he agreed. “We need to get rid of the Sols!”

                “The what?” Ganondorf asked, raising an eyebrow.

                “Follow me!”

                Zant took ahold of his arm and dragged Ganondorf down to the square. In the center were two glowing spheres set in pedestals.

                “These are the Sols,” he explained. “They’re the equivalency to the sun of the outside world and a power source to the Twili.”

                Zant held his hands up, gesturing towards the Sols. A pair of large disembodied hands etched with glowing red symbols appeared, each grabbing hold of a Sol and floating off in opposite directions. As the spheres disappeared, Ganondorf noticed that the world around him seemed darker and the Twili around the square became Shadow Beasts like Midna’s soldiers. Zant turned to Ganondorf, retracting the bottom of his mask so Ganondorf could see the smile on his face.

                “Very good,” Ganondorf said, patting Zant on the shoulder. “But why stop here? Why not extend our reach to Hyrule?”

                “What?!” Zant exclaimed. “I can’t go into the sun! I’ll die!”

                “No worries,” Ganondorf said. “My magic will protect you.”

                Another brilliant smile crossed Zant’s lips.

                “Then what are we waiting for,” he cried.

                Together they opened the portal that led them, and an army of strong Shadow Beasts and Twilight Assassins, back to the Arbiter’s Grounds. It was night when they arrived.

                “There are powerful beings in this place,” Zant said, looking around.

                “They know better than to fuck with me,” Ganondorf smirked.

                Zant turned to the Mirror of Twilight. He struck it with a powerful blast of magic causing it to shatter into four pieces, three of which were flung far out of sight by the blast.

                “I don’t want anyone to get in and interfere with our work in our absence,” Zant explained.

                “Smart,” Ganondorf agreed.

                He hadn’t thought of that. Maybe Zant was smarter than he gave him credit. The Twili pointed at the sky and a black and red portal appeared. Several of the Shadow Beasts were sucked up into it.

                “To Hyrule Castle,” Zant proclaimed.

                “Damn straight,” Ganondorf agreed, a smile on his lips.

                He followed Zant into the shadow of the portal. He felt his body fragment into tiny pieces, a sensation he wasn’t unfamiliar to. He smiled wider at the thought of Ghirahim. Maybe he could finally find out what happened to his lover.

…

                Ghirahim arrived at the top of the Arbiter’s Grounds in the dead of night. He saw a large slab of obsidian and what appeared to be a broken mirror. He gently placed a hand on the broken object and pulled it back with a hiss. It was burning hot, much hotter than it should be, even sitting in the desert sun all day. Someone had been here recently. Ghirahim turned from the mirror, kicking a nearby piece of loose stone and giving a frustrated cry. He fell to his knees, angry tears burning in his eyes. He’d been here and not long ago. Ghirahim could practically feel Ganondorf’s presence. He stood and strode to the edge of the massive stone structure, looking out at the desert beyond. He could still remember the days he’d lived in this very desert with Ganondorf. It had been a different place then, still just as dry and hot as it was now, but there’d been life here. The Gerudo were long gone now, but evidence of their existence still littered the barren landscape, including the structure Ghirahim now stood on. The desert still bore their name.

                “We will be together again,” Ghirahim whispered into the wind.

                He turned to the shattered mirror once more before disappearing, the pain of this near-miss eating at his heart.

…

“Why the long face, honey?”

                Ghirahim looked up at the woman behind the bar. She was a thick, busty woman with tanned skin and red hair. She reminded Ghirahim a lot of the Gerudo women he’d known so long ago.

                “It’s complicated,” he sighed. “I’d hate to burden you with the weight of my troubles.”

                “I’ve owned this place for a long time, sugar,” she replied. “You’d be shocked at all the things I hear from the people who come in to drink their troubles away.”

                Ghirahim took a long swig of the ale in front of him. That’s just what he’d come to do, drink away the pain. He looked back up at the woman. He didn’t know what it was, her pleasant, kindly face or the alcohol (perhaps even a combination of both), that made him want to confide in her.

                “I’m looking for someone,” Ghirahim said. “Someone whom I haven’t seen in a very long time and I’m worried that I may not be able to find him.”

                “This man’s very dear to you,” she said, a knowing smile crossed her lips.

                “Yes,” Ghirahim agreed, the corners of his mouth rising in a slight smile. “He means everything to me.”

                “Well don’t give up hope,” she consoled. “You never know. He might be closer than you think.”

                “Thank you, miss,” Ghirahim said. “I needed that.”

                “Telma,” she corrected. “And it’s no trouble.”

                There was a sudden loud commotion outside. People were running about and screaming.

                “What in the name of the Goddesses?” Telma exclaimed.

                A soldier entered the bar, calling to a pair of fellow soldiers at a table in the corner.

                “The town’s under attack!” he yelled. “Come on!”

                The soldiers sprang up, grabbing their weapons and running into the street. The other patrons of the bar began to panic.

                “Calm down, folks,” Telma reassured. “Just stay put!”

                Her words fell on deaf ears as everyone began to move for the door at once. It was a fairly busy night and the building housed a small crowd. Ghirahim shakily got to his feet, his head spinning slightly from the alcohol. He was knocked to the ground by a man running for the door. He was unsteady to begin with and his head connected with the edge of the bar. He tried to regain his footing, but the world around him was spinning. He faintly heard someone calling to him, but he lost consciousness before he could identify them.

…

                The soldiers of Hyrule were in a frenzy. They’d never seen creatures like these before. They were unnaturally strong and nearly impossible to kill. Whenever one fell, others would revive it.

                “Fall back to the castle! We have to protect Princess Zelda!”

                They congregated in the throne room, surrounding their princess. They were terrified at what was coming, unsure if they’d be able to defeat it. A wave of black mist rolled into the room, disorienting the soldiers. The monsters began to charge out of it, the soldiers running to meet them, but the beasts were too strong and they were soon overpowered. A man entered, flanked by two creatures of the same make as the group that had attacked, but slightly larger, the shield-like coverings over their heads shaped differently.  Their master calmly approached the throne, pausing at the foot of the stairs.

                “It’s time for you to choose: surrender or die,” Zant commanded.

                Zelda cast a nervous glance at the soldiers in the grasp of the monsters.

                “Oh yes,” Zant laughed, noticing her discomfort at the distress of her people. “A question for all the land and people of Hyrule. Life or death?”

                The few unrestrained soldiers looked from Zant to Zelda, a look of shock on their faces. Zelda’s brow knotted in frustration. She couldn’t allow her people to die at the hands of these monsters. They couldn’t fight; the creatures were just too strong. She lowered her head in defeat, a sigh leaving her lips as she dropped her sword.

                “No, your highness!” one of the soldiers cried.

                “Wise decision, princess,” Zant praised.

                The monsters that flanked him moved forward to take a hold of her.

                “Take her to the tower,” Zant ordered.

                The Twilight Assassins dragged her away with no protest. As the princess was dragged away, Twilight began to fall over the town, turning the citizens into spirits, oblivious to their fate. Zant turned to the assembled Shadow Beasts.

                “Go,” he demanded. “Spread the Twilight throughout the land.”

                The beasts were off at once. Zant approached the throne, staring at it for a moment before turning to sit in it. He broke into hysterical laughter. He abruptly stopped when he felt a strong hand grip his shoulder and hoist him upward.

                “Need I remind you who’s in charge of this operation?” Ganondorf growled.

                “I…why, you of course,” Zant stammered, suddenly fearful of the red-headed god.

                “And just so you don’t forget,” Ganondorf snarled.

                He forced Zant forward against the throne, the metal helmet clanging against the stone. Zant heard something thud against the dark blue carpeting before the throne. He tried to turn, but Ganondorf forced his head back against the throne. When he felt rough hands tear at his clothing, realization set in and he began to panic.

                “Struggle all you want,” Ganondorf grunted, taking hold of Zant’s narrow hips. “It won’t make things any easier.”

                Zant screamed in agony as Ganondorf forced his way into the Twili’s body. Zant bit his lip, thankful that the helmet concealed his expression. He would _not_ show weakness in front of Ganondorf. This man was his god after all, his liberator. He’d still be groveling at Midna’s feet if it weren’t for him. He clenched his fists against the throne and took it. Despite the pain, Zant began to find the sensation somewhat pleasant. He failed to stifle a cry as he the organ inside him struck a sensitive spot.  

                “What was that?” Ganondorf chuckled. “Are you actually _enjoying_ this?”

                Zant mentally kicked himself, but he couldn’t deny it. His own erection pressing against the cold stone was evidence enough. He bit his tongue hard enough to draw blood as he felt himself plunge over the edge, his orgasm wracking his body and spilling onto the floor. He felt warmth fill him and knew Ganondorf had finished as well. Zant grimaced as he felt the warm liquid begin to trickle down his legs as the larger man pulled out.

                “You disgust me,” Ganondorf spat, fastening his belt. “Clean yourself up.”

                He turned and disappeared into the castle. Zant sank to the ground, still nude from the waist down. He moaned in discomfort, realizing that his own blood tinged the milky fluid oozing from his rear end. He retracted the mask from his mouth, heavily breathing in the cool air. He knew he should be disgusted, even furious at what had just transpired, but he wasn’t. If it was his god’s will, he would comply.


	4. Mistake

# 

# If you get in bed someone will fall in love…

 _-You and Me and the Devil Makes 3,_ Marilyn Manson

                Ghirahim awoke on the floor of Telma’s bar, his head pounding and his vision foggy. He blinked a few times in an attempt to clear his sight and his surroundings eventually swam into focus. He sat up slowly, bracing is head in his hands as the room spun momentarily. He felt the lump that had begun to rise on his head where it had struck the bar and winced. The bar was deserted and the coloring seemed off; everything had taken on a goldish tint and appeared overall darker. Small flecks of black matter seemed to be flaking up from the floor and disappearing in the air. What looked like pale green flames flickered in various locations around the bar, a few of them moving about. Ghirahim shakily got to his feet, steadying himself on the nearest bar stool.

                “Telma?” he called out, wondering where the other occupants of the bar had gone to. Had they all fled? What happened to Castle Town?

                One of the green flames drifted towards him, causing him to jump. What the hell was it?! He cautiously placed a hand near it, but it gave off no heat. He cocked his head to the side and gently prodded it. He pulled back at the odd tingling sensation. He turned from the flame and made his way outside.

                Telma scratched her head in confusion. She’d called out to the white-haired man when he’d awoken, but he hadn’t heard her. He said her name, but didn’t respond when she answered. When she’d approached he looked at her as though she wasn’t even there! He’d put his hand right through her! Something strange was going on.

                The streets outside had taken on the unnatural coloring as well. The gold-tinted sky was full of dark clouds. More of the floating green flames lined the cobblestones. Something was seriously wrong. He remembered the soldier entering the bar, saying that the castle was under attack. How long ago had that been? How long had he lain upon the bar floor? And where was everyone? The streets were deserted. Something must have happened at the castle. He looked toward the north and saw it looming above the rest the town that surrounded it, the strange light lending it a sinister appearance. If he wanted answers, that’s where he needed to go.

…

                Several days had passed since Zant had taken control of Hyrule under Ganondorf’s orders. The shadow beasts were out spreading it throughout the surrounding provinces, plunging them into eternal Twilight. No one had risen to try and stop them.

                Ganondorf finished and pushed Zant away, collapsing onto the bed. Over the past few days, Zant had been doing everything he could to remain in his god’s good graces, including offering up his body. He looked over at the muscular, bronzed man breathing heavily beside him and slowly scooted next to him, placing his head on the toned chest.

                “What are you doing Zant?” Ganondorf demanded, tensing up and beginning to recoil from the touch. 

                Ganondorf made it a habit of kicking Zant out of the room almost immediately following sex, never touching the Twili once the deed was done. This was cuddling and it was unacceptable.

                Zant took a deep breath, preparing himself for his declaration. It was now or never.

                “I think I love you.”

                Ganondorf froze, his heart briefly stopping as his mind processed what had just occurred.

                “What?!” Ganondorf asked, just to be sure he’d heard right.

                “I-I love you,” Zant repeated, his nerves beginning to fail him.

                Ganondorf sat up, looking down at Zant, who had begun to sit as well. He pulled back and slapped his servant across the face as hard as he could, knocking him onto the floor. Ganondorf stood up, walking around the bed to tower over the thin creature. He knelt down and wrapped his hands around Zant’s throat.

                “I only ever loved one man,” he hissed. “I will never love another, especially not you.”

                Ganondorf released Zant. He threw the Twili’s clothes at him.

                “Get out of my sight!” Ganondorf roared.

                Zant turned and fled without a moment of hesitation. One the hurried footsteps had disappeared down the hall, Ganondorf sunk to the floor. He brought his knees up and brought his hands to his forehead, grabbing fistfuls of orange hair. What had he done? Other than giving him his powers, Ganondorf never showed an ounce of compassion or kindness to Zant yet somehow he’d come to love his tormentor. Only a handful of days had elapsed, but the Twili had still managed to fall for him. He never should have touched him again after that first time. Ganondorf felt nothing towards Zant, but his declaration of love had brought Ghirahim to mind, and the pain of losing him came with those thoughts. What had happened to him? Once he fully established rule over Hyrule through Zant, he would find him…or at least find out what had become of him. Ganondorf didn’t know what kind of lifespan one such as Ghirahim had. He could only hope that he was still living.

…

                As Ghirahim made his way to the castle, he had yet to see any sign of life. Maybe everyone had fled. He stopped in the town square and surveyed his surroundings. As far as he could tell, the entire town was bathed in this eerie gold light, maybe even further. Perhaps all of Hyrule was covered in it. He tensed up as he heard movement. He snapped his fingers, conjuring a sword in his hand. Three creatures lumbered towards him on all fours. He’d never seen anything like them. They had disk-like heads with tendrils splaying from beneath them. As they drew near, a barrier appeared around the foursome. Ghirahim took the first creature out with a well-aimed stab to the heart. As the creature fell to the ground, Ghirahim stumbled. He brought a hand to his spinning head. The fall onto the bar floor was still taking its toll on him. He dodged a swipe from another creature, his vision swimming as he ducked. Through the haze he still managed to overpower his charging enemy.  He turned to take on the last creature, his head throbbing. He felt as though he would collapse at any minute. The creature stopped, releasing an ear-splitting shriek that brought Ghirahim to his knees. Darkness was creeping into the edges of his vision, but he still saw the monsters he had defeated resurrected by the call of their companion. As he surrendered to the darkness, he saw the three monsters close in around him.


	5. Busted

Almost a month had passed and Ganondorf was barely speaking to Zant. He avoided the Twili all together unless it was absolutely necessary to interact with him. Zant was frantically scrambling to get back into his good graces, but nothing he did seemed to have any effect. The tall Gerudo continued to ignore him or at most, lash out at Zant and injure him in some way.

                When the Shadow Beasts had brought in the pale stranger, Zant thought that his answer had arrived. Surely this prisoner would be of interest to Ganondorf. All the other citizens of Hyrule had become spirits, but not this man. Zant had entered the dank dungeon cell just as the man was waking. He’d been disoriented and confused, not knowing where he was or why he was there, but he did give Zant his name…and the Twili’s heart stopped. Ghirahim. How many times had he heard Ganondorf mutter that name in his sleep, calling to his lost love? It couldn’t be! That was impossible! Ganondorf would _definitely_ show interest in this prisoner, but Zant couldn’t allow that. Somewhere in his twisted mind he was convinced he could win his deity’s affection. Ganondorf would never know that Ghirahim was here. Zant had to think of a way to get rid of him.

                As the weeks wore on, Zant was at a loss. He was constantly on edge, waiting for his secret to be discovered. Every time Ganondorf spoke to him, he feared the anger that would come with the revelation. He had to get rid of Ghirahim, but he was still unsure how. He’d been lucky enough that Ganondorf hadn’t been made aware of his arrival. While the savage Shadow Beasts’ loyalty lied with Zant, the pair of Twilight Assassins, stronger and more intelligent than their counterparts, reported straight to Ganondorf. This was especially dangerous to Zant because, unlike the Beasts, the Assassins were capable of speech. They hadn’t witnessed the trio of Shadow Beasts bring in the prisoner, otherwise Ganondorf would’ve known. Zant knew trying to get Ghirahim out of the castle without them noticing was pushing it. He was on thin ice already. With their master avoiding Zant, they seemed to be around every corner, watching him and no doubt reporting back to Ganondorf with any suspicious activity. Zant found sneaking into the dungeons extremely difficult. He’d hoped that Ghirahim would succumb to starvation or the harsh environment of the dungeons; they weren’t designed for extended stays. Whatever sort of creature he was, he was a hardy one.

…

                Ghirahim lay curled upon the damp stone floor, his thick cloak doing nothing to keep out the chill. He had no idea how long he’d been here, but he knew it had been awhile. The fact that he was practically wasting away was evidence enough. He had no idea why he was being kept here, what this Zant character wanted of him. He needed to get out of here and continue his search for Ganondorf. He’d attempted to teleport out, but there was strong magic preventing him from doing so. He’d grown weaker and weaker as time passed; reaching the point he was at now. He was absolutely miserable; all will to move had abandoned him. He knew he couldn’t last much longer in this place and escape seemed impossible. He’d die in this place, never having found Ganondorf. The sorrow became crippling as he pictured the face of the man he’d never see again. Alone, that’s how he would die.

                He heard the door open and Ghirahim didn’t bother to turn. He knew it was Zant. The man had periodically stopped in to ridicule him, beginning to beat once he realized his prisoner didn’t have to will to fight back.

                “Still hanging in there I see?” Zant sneered.

                “Haven’t you done enough?” Ghirahim sighed, still turned away from his tormentor. “Can’t you just leave me to die? It’s what you want anyway.”

                “How right you are!” Zant cried, sounding positively gleeful. “Speed it up, won’t you?”

                “Just answer me one thing,” Ghirahim said, pulling himself into a sitting position and turning to the man. “Why?”

                Zant stared at the man’s bruised countenance. Was _this_ truly the man Ganondorf loved more than any other? He didn’t seem like much.

                “Well since you’re not long for this world anyway,” Zant agreed, retracting the mask from around his mouth and kneeling at Ghirahim’s level. “He’s mine now.”

                It took a moment for those words to set into Ghirahim’s muddled brain, but when they did Zant had already backed out of range, now standing in the doorway.

                “Ganondorf,” Ghirahim whispered. “He’s here.”

                Zant cackled madly as he stepped out of the cell, closing the door behind him.

                “No!” Ghirahim cried, throwing his emaciated body against the door and weakly pounding against it with his fists.

                Zant knew who he was, he had from the start. Ghirahim slouched against the door, his face pressed against the thick wood. Tears streamed down his face as sobs wracked his body. He’d come so close only to fail. He crawled into a corner, pulling his knees to his chest. He drew his cloak around his shoulders and allowed his misery to wash over him.

                Unseen by Zant as he mounted the stairs cackling madly, the Twilight Assassins slid into the shadows, heading off to alert their master.

…

                Ganondorf was bored. Zant was irritating him with his unrequited love and pointless attempts at redemption. The tall redhead was sprawled inelegantly across the throne, one leg tossed over the arm, his head resting on the other. He was beginning to doze off when he heard an eerie, two-toned voice at his side.

                “Excuse me, my lord, but I’ve got something of interest to report.”

                Ganondorf sat up to face the Assassins.

                “I could use some interesting news,” Ganondorf said, cocking a thick eyebrow.

                “It appears that Zant has been holding a prisoner without your knowledge,” one of the Assassins stated.

                “Really?” Ganondorf replied, his temper beginning to flair. “How long has he been here?”

                “No idea, sir,” the other stated. “But I’d guess it has been some time.”

                “We didn’t get a look at him, either,” the first said.

                “Well I suppose we’ll have to take a look then,” Ganondorf replied, rising to his feet.

                He took off toward the dungeons flanked by the Twilight Assassins. The trio ran into a rather cheerful Zant in the hallway.

                “Good evening, my lord,” Zant practically sang. “Where are you off to?”

                “Oh, nowhere special,” Ganondorf answered sarcastically. “Just thought I’d check out the dungeons. It’s been brought to my attention that there may be something of interest down there.”

                Zant tried to hide his sudden switch in mood.

                “Wh-what?” he stammered. “What could possibly be down there?”

                “Why don’t you tell me?” Ganondorf said, his voice dropping into a deadly tone.

                He turned from Zant and started down the stairs. The panicked Twili followed at a distance, knowing he was in deep shit. Ganondorf found the occupied cell easily enough, opening the door and stepping inside. He saw the figure huddled in the far corner, his cloak pulled around his body.

                “Who are you?” Ganondorf called out.

                There was no response.

                “Answer me!” he demanded.

                Still no reply. He turned to the Assassins, motioning for them to follow as he moved toward the motionless figure. He gently prodded the prisoner with his boot.

                “Hey!” he cried.

                After a third time with no reply, Ganondorf knelt before the prisoner and pulled back his hood. The man was horribly thin and malnourished; he’d obviously been here awhile. There were dark bags under his closed eyes and his cheeks were sunken in. His face was bruised and cut, his long pale hair matted with dirt and blood. Ganondorf tilted his head to the side, something about this man familiar. He brushed some hair from the damaged face and noticed a marking on his left cheek, partially obscured by the surrounding bruises: a diamond. Ganondorf’s eyes widened and his heart stopped. He pushed the hair away further back, seeking the confirmation he needed. A sound escaped his lips, half way between a gasp and a sob, as he found it, the mismatched ear. Ganondorf ran a finger around the shell of it.

                “Ghirahim,” he whispered, a tear sliding down his cheek.

                He brought his fingers up to the slender throat, feeling the weak, unsteady pulse. He’d waited centuries to see this man again and now his lover lay dying, tortured to the brink under his own nose. He gently lifted Ghirahim into his arms, cradling the fragile body against his own. He saw Zant standing in the doorway, trembling in fear. Ganondorf narrowed his eyes at him.

                “I’ll deal with you later,” he growled as he left.

                He turned to the Assassins who followed closely behind.

                “Make sure he doesn’t try to escape.”

                They bowed and turned back to watch Zant, but the Twili knew better than to run. 


	6. Teetering on the Brink

Ganondorf’s heart hammered against his breast bone as he made his way through the castle, the practically lifeless Ghirahim cradled against his chest. How long had he been here, right under his nose? How long had Zant been hiding him? He shouldered open the door to the bathroom, a wave of warm steam billowing out to meet him. He laid Ghirahim on a bench and proceeded to strip the unconscious man of his soiled clothing. Ganondorf choked down a sob at the condition of his lover. The once toned body had withered, the lean muscle all but replaced by the outlines of the bones beneath. The pale skin was marred with a variety of cuts and bruises and was cold to the touch, despite the humidity of the room. Ganondorf stripped off his shirt, sweat glistening on his torso. He wet a cloth and began to tenderly clean the grime from Ghirahim’s face. He stripped off the rest of his clothing and lifted Ghirahim once again, wading into the water and settling the unconscious Demon Lord in his lap. He began to clean Ghirahim’s hair, combing his fingers through the long silver strands. It had grown so long over the years. Ganondorf pressed his lips to Ghirahim’s temple.

                “I’m here,” he whispered against the pale skin. “He won’t lay a hand on you again.”

                His fury toward Zant was great. He knew he shouldn’t be surprised-the Twili was insane-but to do this?! How had Zant, who’d never even seen Ghirahim, know who he was when Ganondorf himself hadn’t recognized him right away? Ganondorf had never spoken to Zant about him.

                Ganondorf brought Ghirahim out of the water and gently dried him off, taking time to assess his injuries. Cleaned out and free of filth, some of the wounds weren’t as bad as they’d initially appeared, but one in particular, running across his ribs, was rather deep and appeared to be infected. Ganondorf moved to some nearby shelves and removed a salve, which he rubbed into the wound before binding it. He slid his own pants back on, wrapping Ghirahim in a towel and carrying him to the bedroom. He laid the unconscious figure on the bed, removing the towel and covering him with the blankets. The redhead stripped again, climbing into bed beside Ghirahim. He lay there, gently running his fingers against pale skin. The Demon Lord would awaken in time. He always did.

…

                Ganondorf hadn’t realized he’d fallen asleep until he was jolted awake by movement beside him.

                “Ghirahim?” he muttered, sleep still hesitant to leave him. “What are you doing?”

                Ghirahim didn’t answer. Ganondorf opened his eyes. Something wasn’t right. He now realized his lover’s movements were erratic and unusual. He sat up and turned to Ghirahim, panic immediately setting in. Ghirahim jerked about as spasms wracked his frame, his eyes open, but rolled back to show the whites. His skin was flushed. Ganondorf could feel the heat radiating from the thrashing body. The infection was getting worse. Who knew what he’d picked up in that dungeon? Ganondorf gently flipped Ghirahim onto his side just as he emptied the contents of his stomach, little more than acids anyway, onto the stone floor. Just as suddenly as it began the seizure subsided, Ghirahim falling back into unconsciousness. Ganondorf gathered the heavily breathing man into his arms and cradled him against his chest. His flesh was burning hot. It was times like this that Ganondorf wished Koume and Kotake, his surrogate mothers, were here. The potions the twin witches had concocted would have been able to heal this.

                “Hang on, my love,” Ganondorf whispered against Ghirahim’s sweat-drenched hair, tears filling his eyes. “I’ve only just found you. You can’t leave me.”

                He laid Ghirahim back on the bed and stood up. He wet a cloth in a basin of cold water that sat by the bed and began to gently clean the sweat from Ghirahim’s fevered brow. One of the Twilight Assassins ambled into the room.

                “Are you alright, my lord?” it asked. “I heard a bit of commotion.”

                “I’m fine, but I don’t know how much longer he’ll last,” Ganondorf said, trying to hide the quiver in his voice. “Where’s Zant?”

                “Last I saw he was in the throne room,” the creature answered.

                “Stay with him,” Ganondorf ordered, motioning to Ghirahim.

                Ganondorf stormed toward the throne room. Zant was shuffling nervously around the room, the other Twilight Assassin watching from the corner. He knew he was in deep shit. He should have known he couldn’t hide something that big from Ganondorf. He started at his god’s entrance. Ganondorf raised his hand, forcing Zant’s helmet back and exposing his face. He wrapped a large hand around the Twili’s slender neck, lifting him off his feet and slamming him into the wall.

                “I-I’m sorry, my L-Lord,” Zant stammered, his heart seized with terror.

                “Sorry for what you did,” Ganondorf seethed. “Or sorry you got caught?”

                Zant stammered incoherently for a few moments.

                “That’s what I thought,” Ganondorf growled. “What was going through that twisted little mind of yours, Zant? Did you honestly think I’d ever love you? How’d you even know who he was?”

                “I-I-I’ve heard you say his name in your sleep,” Zant confessed. “I knew he must have been important to you.”

                “And you thought you’d get rid of him,” Ganondorf screamed, tightening his grip on Zant’s throat. “You better pray he doesn’t die because if he does, you’ll be praying for death yourself.”

                He released his grip on Zant, allowing the Twili to crumble to the floor gasping for air. Ganondorf began to walk away, but turned to kick the fallen figure for good measure. Again the Gerudo turned, leaving the throne room. He returned to his room to find the Twilight Assassin diligently keeping watch at the bedside. He turned to Ganondorf as he entered.

                “The infection is very bad,” the creature said. “I hate to say it, but it doesn’t look good for him.”

                Tact was something that the creatures of the Twilight seemed not to possess. Ganondorf grimaced, struggling with the emotions that threatened to spill over.

                “Thank you,” Ganondorf sighed. “You can go.”

                The beast ambled away. Ganondorf slid back into bed, cradling Ghirahim against his chest. His flesh still burned with fever. The Assassin was right. There was only so much Ganondorf could do. There were various potions he could use, but nothing as potent as what Twinrova had concocted years ago in the desert. There was no guarantee that Ghirahim would survive.

                “Please Ghirahim,” he sobbed against his pale hair. “Please don’t die, love.”


	7. A Losing Battle

With a frustrated cry, Ganondorf smashed another vase against the wall of the corridor. He fell to his knees, his forehead coming to rest on the cool stone floor as sobs wracked his body. Ghirahim was dying and all Ganondorf could do was watch his lover wither away. The healing salves and potions had no effect and the wound had become gangrenous. Ghirahim’s fever continued to climb and as a result the seizures became more frequent. Ganondorf had all but given up hope and was waiting for the dreaded moment to come. Zant also waited with grim anticipation for the death of the white-haired man. He knew that with Ghirahim’s death would come Ganondorf’s retribution. The Twili shuddered to think of what it may be; something that even the twisted mind of a madman couldn’t conceive.

                “My Lord?” one of the Twilight Assassins stood over the distraught Gerudo king.

                Ganondorf raised his head to look at the creature. Lacking a face, the Assassin showed no emotions, but something about the creature’s posture told Ganondorf all he needed to know. It wasn’t the first time it had come to him with this news. Ganondorf stood, nodding briefly to the messenger, and swept down the hall to the bedroom. Sure enough, Ghirahim thrashed feebly upon the bed. Ganondorf kicked off his boots and climbed into bed as Ghirahim’s movements calmed into quivers. Ganondorf collected his dying lover in his arms. The stench of illness and infection stung his nose. Shallow breaths escaped the Demon Lord’s emaciated body and his heart beat weakly in his sunken chest. Fresh tears sprang to Ganondorf’s eyes as he held Ghirahim close and choked out the words he’d been dreading to speak.

                “Go, my love,” Ganondorf sobbed. “It’s selfish of me to try and keep you here. You’ve suffered enough.”

                It broke his heart to admit such a thing, but it was the truth. Ghirahim wasn’t going to recover and Ganondorf had to let him go. Ghirahim drew in a ragged breath, as though in response. Ganondorf ran his fingers through Ghirahim’s hair and planted a kiss on his heated brow.

                “I love you,” Ganondorf whispered. “I’ll never love another.”

                Ganondorf held Ghirahim close for what seemed like forever. As time passed, the red head felt his lover’s heartbeat slow down     . Ganondorf pressed his lips against Ghirahim’s pale temple as a shallow breath, almost like a sigh, passed the Demon Lord’s lips before he lay still. Time stopped in that moment as the gravity of the situation hit Ganondorf full force. Ghirahim was gone. Ganondorf clutched at his own chest and began to hyperventilate, his breaths coming out in choked sobs. When his head finally stopped spinning, a mournful cry of almost inhuman quality escaped his lips. Several floors below, Zant heard the sound and shuddered. A cry of that magnitude could only mean one thing and it wasn’t anything good for him.

…

                He felt sun on his face and heard birds chirping. A gently breeze was blowing; he heard it rustling the leaves of many trees. It felt like there was grass beneath him.

                                “I was wondering when you’d be joining me,” an uncomfortably familiar voice said.

                Ghirahim opened his eyes. He was lying on grass and there were trees above him. He stood up, jumping in shock when he discovered the source of the voice. Demise was perched atop the large sealing spike that had once kept him imprisoned. It was embedded in the ground, surrounded by a circle of runes, but obviously it no longer had any effect.

                “What’s going on?” Ghirahim asked, surveying his surroundings. “This place no longer exists.”

                The Demon Lord looked around at the ramps that spiraled up out of the pit, dotted with geysers every few feet. An old temple no doubt stood somewhere above, but he couldn’t see it from his position. He was in the Sealed Grounds.

                “In the living world it doesn’t,” Demise explained. “But here it flourishes, along with all the other dead things.”

                “D-dead things,” Ghirahim repeated, becoming disoriented and falling to his knees.

                “Yes,” Demise said with a smirk. “You’re dead. That insane blue creature saw to that. It wasn’t pretty either.”

                Dead. He’d died in that dungeon after all.

                “Ganondorf,” Ghirahim whispered.

                “Yes, your _lover,_ ” Demise practically spat the last word. “My dying vow made flesh. He tried to save you, but it was too late. You died in his arms.”

                Ghirahim gasped, tears springing to his eyes. He hadn’t died alone. Ganondorf had found him after all. He clenched his fists, praying that Ganondorf would punish the man who did this. Ghirahim felt Demise touch his hair.

                “Look at you,” he observed, fingering the long tresses. “What’s become of my flamboyant harlequin over the years? You look positively ordinary.”

                Ghirahim pulled away from his touch, but Demise grabbed a fistful of white hair and forced his servant to look at him.

                “This man has made you bold,” Demise snarled. “But don’t forget who made him who he is, who owned you to begin with.”

                Ghirahim closed his eyes, hoping that this was all a nightmare and he’d awaken in Ganondorf’s arms, but he still felt the tension on his scalp and knew it wasn’t. He was dead and in death he had been returned to the clutches of his master.

…

                The Twilight Assassins had attempted to remove Ghirahim’s body, but Ganondorf hadn’t allowed them. He spent the next hour sobbing over the cooling body of his lover. After that hour, there was a flurry of black and white diamonds and the body disappeared, leaving a large sword in its place. Ganondorf was confused for a moment before realization set in. Ghirahim was a sword spirit, a rare entity he’d stumbled across in a book once. It accounted for many things, including his unnatural lifespan and combat skills. The sword was tarnished and damaged, a few of the thorn-like projections along the blade snapped off. There was a deep gouge along the center of the blade, the edges coated in a dark rust-like corrosion. Ganondorf ran his fingers along it, realizing that this gouge was the infected wound that had taken Ghirahim’s life.

                For several days Ganondorf remained holed up in his rooms with the sword, barely eating and speaking to no one. Towards the end of his confinement, he’d decided to get the sword repaired. He hadn’t been able to save Ghirahim, but he could at least return the sword to its former condition. He would then mount it in a place of honor. He called for the Twilight Assassins.

                “I need to have a sword repaired,” Ganondorf said. “Have you encountered a reputable blacksmith in your travels?”

                “Not that I can remember my Lord, but most of these lands have been covered in Twilight and its people turned into spirits,” one of the Assassins replied.

                “There is a village in the Ordona Province we have yet to reach,” the other said. “You could try there.”

                “Thank you,” Ganondorf said, fastening his cloak and carefully bundling up the large sword. “Keep an eye on Zant. I’ll deal with him when I return.”

                The Twili in question saw Ganondorf approach him and panicked, thinking the time had come, but he was dressed for travel and carried a large bundle. He walked by Zant without as much as a sideways glance.

…

                Ganondorf traveled nonstop for the next few days. He emerged from the seemingly endless Twilight near a spring. It had been so long since he’d seen the sun. He pulled his hood up to hide his face as he passed a treehouse and saw a sign up ahead. “Ordon Village” it read. As he entered the village a blonde man with a sword strapped to his back approached.

                “State your business!” the man commanded.

                “I’m looking for a blacksmith,” Ganondorf replied, looking down at the man from atop his horse. “I’ve got a sword that needs repairing.”

                “Why do you need this sword repaired?” the man inquired.

                “It holds deep sentimental value to me,” Ganondorf explained. “It belonged to someone who was very dear to me.”

                “Oh,” the man said. “Well, I’m the man you’re looking for. The name’s Rusl. Come with me.”

                Ganondorf dismounted his horse and lead it along behind him as he followed Rusl to his home. He tied the horse up outside and removed the bundle from its place behind the saddle.

                “Sorry about the harsh treatment back there,” Rusl apologized. “Dark times we’re living in. Just the other day a monster took off with all the village children. You wouldn’t happen to have heard anything, would you?”

                “No, I haven’t,” Ganondorf replied. “Sorry.”

                And he was. He knew how terrible it felt to lose a loved one and in his pain he felt unusually sympathetic.

                “Damn,” Rusl said, leading Ganondorf inside. “Well I suppose that’s not your fault. And with this strange darkness encroaching on us, everyone’s too scared to leave the village. What’s going on out there?”

                “No idea,” Ganondorf lied rather convincingly. “But you’re right to be scared. It’s dangerous out there.”

                Rusl nodded sadly.

                “Well let’s see that sword of yours.”

                Ganondorf laid the bundle on the table and gently unwrapped it.

                “This is one hell of a weapon,” Rusl exclaimed, gently examining it. “It’s very old, no doubt a family heirloom of sorts. Must have been some blow to damage it like this.”

                “Can you repair it?” Ganondorf asked.

                “Yes,” Rusl confirmed. “But it’ll cost quite a bit.”

                “Not a problem,” Ganondorf assured, reaching into his cloak and dropping a small sack of rupees onto the table.

                “In that case,” Rusl said. “Let’s get started. It’s gonna take a few hours though. Feel free to explore the village.”

…

                Ganondorf had roamed around the small village for some time, taking his horse up to the ranch to be fed and exploring the spring and surrounding clearing. He was now sitting by the banks of the river that flowed through the village, not too far from Rusl’s home. He’d taken his hood down, realizing that no one in this era would recognize him. He was thinking about Ghirahim. Goddesses, he missed the man.

                “Mind if I join you?”

                Ganondorf turned to see a blonde, heavily pregnant woman.

                “Not at all,” Ganondorf said.

                The woman eased herself down beside the tall Gerudo.

                “I’m Uli, Rusl’s wife,” she introduced herself. “You’re the man whose sword he’s repairing, right?”

                Ganondorf nodded.

                “You’ve lost someone recently,” Uli observed. “I can see it in your eyes. I see the same look in everyone’s eyes these days. We’ve all lost our children.”

                “Yes, I heard,” Ganondorf replied. “They may still be alive out there. Children can be remarkably resilient.”

                “Yes, I suppose they can,” Uli agreed, thinking of her own son, Colin. “I have faith that they’ll return.”

                Ganondorf looked down at the water. He couldn’t help but feel slightly guilty. While he had no idea what happened to Ordon’s children, he was responsible for the Twilight that prevented their parents from searching for them.

                “Who was it, if you don’t mind my asking,” Uli asked. “The person you lost?”

                “The love of my life,” Ganondorf answered.

                “Oh my, that’s awful,” Uli gasped. “What happened to her?”

                Ganondorf couldn’t help but chuckle at her assumption.

                “ _He_ contracted a massive infection from a wound,” Ganondorf explained. “He died in my arms.”

                “That’s so sad,” Uli said quietly, placing her hand on his arm. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

                He smiled weakly at her.

                “Would you like to join us for dinner?” Uli offered.

                “Thank you,” Ganondorf agreed, standing up and helping her to her feet.

…

                The sun had set and Ganondorf was back in the saddle, the flawlessly repaired sword safely secured behind the saddle.

                “Be careful out there,” Rusl said.

                “If you hear anything about our children, please let us know if you can,” Uli pleaded.

                “I’ll try my best,” Ganondorf said. “Good luck finding them.”

                “Thank you,” Uli replied, tears swimming in her eyes. “I’m just so worried.”

                “Don’t worry,” Rusl comforted, putting an arm around his wife. “I have faith in Link. If anyone can find them, it’s him.”

                Ganondorf tried not to show his shock at hearing the name. It had to be some sort of coincidence; a couple probably named their child after the legendary hero and this Link had no relation to the Link who had defied him so long ago. He bid the couple farewell and took off for the castle.


End file.
